


Second Chances

by Alcosta314



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Season 5 Fix-It, The 100 (TV) Season 5, Time Loop, because Season 5 was bad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-27
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:47:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24939292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alcosta314/pseuds/Alcosta314
Summary: Set in Season 5: Wonkru defeats the prisoners, but in doing so, destroys the valley. Bellamy Blake is among the casualties. As Wonkru struggles to survive on depleting resources and Clarke loses hope in humanity, she is given another chance to do things better and to keep her family alive.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Second Chances

**Author's Note:**

> So... I meant to post this in season 5, but let's be honest I just pretend the last three seasons don't exist.

I.

For six years, Clarke would’ve given almost anything to see Bellamy again. To hear the rough scratch of his voice, to feel his arms surround her, to absorb his warmth and to glimpse the corners of his smile.

But she’d never wanted to see him like this.

She’d never wanted to feel his blood, thick on her fingers, slipping on his skin as she tried to put pressure on his wound.

Never wanted to feel the loosening clench of his hand around hers as his palm grew cold.

She’d never wanted to hear the stutter of his breath as he drew in air for the last time.

She’d never wanted to see him like this.

II. 

“Clarke.” She felt arms come around her shoulder and could faintly hear sobs in the background.

But she was numb, unfeeling.

“Clarke, sweetie. You did everything you could.” The voice said soothingly, but it was cracked on the edges.

Clarke just kept staring, clutching his hand, thinking maybe if she held it tight enough she could press some life back into him.

People moved around, coming in and out of the room to pay respects. Clarke hardly took notice them- of even Echo, Raven, and the others coming to the other side of his body, whispering sad prayers as they kissed his forehead goodbye. Clarke felt their eyes on her, but she didn’t look up— she couldn’t. She could only look at him.

It was night before her mom came to her again, and the room was empty, save for two people- one dead, and one barely alive.

“We have to clean him and prepare him for the service.” When Clarke didn’t move, the voice turned more stern. “Clarke, you have to go.”

The one time she refused to leave his side, he was dead. Oh, how the universe loved pulling them apart.

Clarke felt a hand grasp the one at her side. It was small, familiar.

“Clarke,” Madi said, soft. “Come home with me. Please.”

She nodded mutely and let Madi lead her out of the building. Her hands were still covered in dried blood. His blood. This was all too familiar.

They reached their tent and Madi pulled her inside to her bed. She wrapped her arms around Clarke, holding her tightly, and rubbed soft circles into her back like Clarke had done to her whenever she missed her parents.

Clarke remained stiff at first, unwilling to shatter the fragile numbness that supported her throughout the day. But then Madi’s face tucked into her neck- a comforting gesture now tainted by sorrow- and she let herself break.

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t- couldn’t- the air wouldn’t enter her lungs, her throat was closing up. She gasped for breath, but it wouldn’t come. The harder she tried, the more her vision spotted.

She couldn’t do this without him. She never had- even in the six years when he wasn’t there. There was always a hope, a possibility that he was alive. That he was still breathing, too.

But now, he wasn’t. He wouldn’t ever again.

“It’s not your fault.” Madi said as her voice broke. She was crying too.

It’s not your fault.

But it was. How could it not be? He was a part of her, how could she not keep him alive?

III.

The war was won. All the miners were either dead, or prisoners once again. But the valley, Clarke’s home, didn’t reflect the same victory. The worms sent ahead of the army ravaged more than just bodies. Eligius weapons aimed at Wonkru burned more than just men. Eden was a paradise turned battlefield and could not be restored, just like the hearts of warriors who fought on its grounds.

This was their fate then, this was the destiny of the human race. Death by self. Suicide.

Clarke had always wondered if the killing and destruction was worth it, even if it meant their survival. At what point did the cost of living outweigh the benefits? And now she realized, they never did. Death led to death. Killing led to killing. The faces may be different, the reasons may be changed, but the cycle never stops. The cost to live was always death.

There was nothing left to do, nowhere left to run. The miners’ ship was destroyed and the bunker’s resources were nearly exhausted. The world was ending again, but this time, not in a wave of fire.  
After a funeral service for Blodreina’s courageous brother, Octavia met with her generals to plan the next step in Wonkru’s survival. Clarke joined them, sticking to the edge of the room and watching them carefully. She knew the land and informed them that Eden wouldn’t last for long.

Her information was met with resigned sighs and disheartened faces, but Clarke knew most of it was for show. They knew what they did to themselves, to their people.

“What do we do now, Blodreina? The land won’t sustain us for long.” Miller asked.

“We send out teams in search of more survivable land. And we reenact the population reduction procedure.” Octavia replied, toneless.

Clarke felt a shudder wash over her, but she said nothing. Talking never achieved anything with Octavia.

The days went by. Clarke barely registered the people around her. She stayed with Madi, avoided the fights and looting and tried to stay alive. To keep Madi alive. That had been her purpose for the last six years.

Keep Madi alive, she repeated in her head. It got her through the days- a constant mantra that replaced the beating of her heart. A ticking like a clock that counted down the minutes to… to whatever was at the end.

Sometimes a faint prodding would appear at the back of her mind— why keep Madi alive in a world like this? But Clarke chose each time to push it away, to bury it, for fear it would stop the mantra, and her heart altogether.

Two months in and they were scrounging desperately for resources. Two hundred people were left as a result of Octavia’s population reduction procedure. Echo was dead- she was one of the first to go. Emori and Harper, too- they served no real use to Octavia. Murphy was so torn up after, he was thrown in the ring the next day for trying to kill the queen. Then Abby. Clarke wanted to say it hurt when she died, but Clarke lost her mother long before her actual death. Monty and Raven had yet to go, but from the look in their eyes, Clarke knew they didn’t fear their end at all.

The parties sent out to find more land never returned. But Octavia, fearless and broken as she was, never stopped the struggle to survive. Her mask never slipped, and no one was left to force it off. She killed her own people impassively, always in the name of better world- a better future. Always fighting, never backing down, because the fight was all she knew, even before coming to the ground. But Clarke didn’t know what she was fighting anymore. She wasn’t sure Octavia knew either.

Some days, Clarke imagined what it would be like had Bellamy survived. Maybe he would’ve been different- maybe he wouldn’t have lost hope like the rest of them. He was always trying to reach his sister, always trying. But his efforts would’ve only hurt Clarke more. It’s easier to accept the end when all hope is lost, it’s harder when there’s an actual desire to live. Bellamy might’ve inspired the masses, but he couldn’t change the tide.

A week later, Clarke was drafted as one of the next victims to fight in the ring. She remembered an emptiness when Octavia and her guards wrestled her into a holding cell.  
Madi had tears streaming down her face, and if Clarke had any sorrows leaving this world, it was leaving her alone in it.

When Clarke was thrown into the pit, she found Madi’s eyes in the stands and willed her to hear the apologies she cried.

I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Clarke told her. I’m sorry for leaving you in a world like this.

The fight began. Screams echoed off the walls- the screams of 190 people. All that was left of the human race. They were pathetic screams, really.

Two of the fighters in the ring leapt forward, brandishing spears and hardened faces. Faces void of remorse, of any emotion. Faces of people so intent to fight that they no longer resembled people anymore.

Clarke retreated to the edges of the ring, grabbing a shield in her hand and trying to stay out of the way of the other fighters. She’d never been one for wielding a sword.

A cry to her left startled her, and she turned, barely catching the downward strike of a spear with her shield. The sound of metal hitting metal reverberated through the ring. Her arm threatened to give out from the force of the contact, but Clarke stood strong and lifted her eyes above her shield to counter the next attack.

The woman wielding the spear in the front of her had a vicious smile on a face burned with Azgeda tattoos. Her eyes were cold and empty and regarding Clarke with a eager glare. The warrior snarled angrily, mouth twisting with a battle cry and moved to strike Clarke again, when a sword protruded from her belly, turning her expression to one of shock. The spear clanged to the ground as she stared down at her abdomen, her hands moving sluggishly to cover the wound.

But then the sword drew back and she fell forward, first onto her knees, then hitting the ground with a heavy thud, revealing the man behind her. He stepped forward, over her fallen body, his sword covered in blood. He too, wore a murderous grin, and he too eyed Clarke hungrily. He too, would fall, eventually. They would all fall, like dominoes- collapsing to the ground in death, but never in defeat.

And Clarke was next in line, it seemed. The man moved forward, backing her into the wall of the cage. The shouts around them grew louder, and Clarke could make out a desperate scream of her name from above. She wished so greatly that things could be different, that they could be happy. But they had the reached the point of no return.

The man leapt forward, swinging his sword in a large arc meant to cut her body, but Clarke dodged to the side. Her heart was pounding violently as adrenaline shot through her veins, and she secured her grip the handle of her shield, preparing for the next attack.

He cut in the other direction, coming down in a diagonal and curtailing any hopes of evading his sword. Clarke brought up her shield, clenching her eyes tight as she blocked the weapon. The impact threw her down, and she landed on her back, knocking the breath out of her chest. She scrambled to get up, but her opponent used the time she was on the ground to cross the distance between them. He hovered above her, smirking, and kicked the shield out of her grasp.

Clarke shuffled backwards on her hands, jaw trembling as he readied his final blow. Her cheeks felt wet, but she didn’t remember crying. The ground felt cold beneath her palms, and the wires of the cage behind her cut into her back. So this is where I die, Clarke thought.  
She’d always wondered where she would be when it happened and just wished it was anywhere but a battlefield. She should’ve known that was never possible.

Her attacker drew his arm back and thrust forward, aiming for her chest. Clarke willed her eyes to stay open. Death was not her enemy— it shouldn’t be, at least.

Time seem to move in slow motion. The muscles of the man’s arm constricted as he gripped his weapon. The light of the arena reflected off the metal of his sword as it neared her body.  
The screams of the audience dissolved into a static silence, and all Clarke could hear was the steady sound of her heartbeat, thumping away in her chest, her throat, throughout her veins.

Clarke couldn’t help it- her eyes closed as the tip neared her heart. No matter how hard she tried, she would always fear death. For her people, for Madi, even for herself. At least her fight was over. At least she would never have to fight again.

This was the end.

But the end didn’t come. Clarke waited for the pain, for her life to fade, but it didn’t come. She waited until her heartbeat faded to nothing more than a background noise and her breathing steadied.

Clarke hesitantly opened her eyes. Panic shot through her heart as she saw the sword tip right in front of her— millimeters from her chest. But it wasn’t moving, and neither was the man who held its handle.

Clarke glanced around the room. People were frozen, mid-cheer, mid-scream, mid-breath. She found Madi and her heart constricted at the sight of anguish coloring Madi’s young face. No child should ever have to feel that pain.

Clarke pushed herself off the ground, carefully evading the blade. What the hell was happening? Was she dead?

It was eerily quiet as Clarke continued to observe the room. What had changed? She thought of the stories she read with Wells when she was little, about superheroes with the power to stop time. But she was no superhero.

Clarke carefully stepped over the fallen bodies, not knowing what would happen if she touched them, and not wanting to be in the arena if they awoke.

She made her way to gates of the ring, racking her brain for a way to get them open. She had to get to Madi.

“Clarke.”

Clarke jerked around, startled at the the deep voice breaking the silence. She stared, recognition seeping in.

“Bellamy?”

She felt her breath leave her, and it was if her body acted on its own accord as she hurtled forward, disregarding the people on the ground, only knowing that she needed to get to him.

Clarke collapsed into his arms and he held her tightly- arms wound around her and face tucked into his spot on her neck. She breathed him in, her hands clenching his shirt tightly, and if this was dying, then it wasn’t all that bad.

His skin felt so real beneath her, though. His palms spanning her back felt so alive and warm, unlike they were all those months ago.

She released him reluctantly after a minute, but kept close, staring up into his face and trying to once again memorize the freckles she had forgotten. He gazed down at her with a small smile, eyes fond and glassy.

“How are you here?” she breathed.

Bellamy shook his head gently, rubbing circles into her hips with his thumbs. “That doesn’t matter right now.”

Clarke titled her head, confused, and began to say something, but he went on. “You’re about to die, Clarke. Don’t you want to talk about that?”

She huffed. “Dying is mercy in this world.”

“Even if it means leaving Madi behind?” Bellamy said softly.

Clarke looked away and swallowed thickly. She never wanted to leave Madi. But she didn’t see how this world was worth living in anymore- for anyone.

Bellamy reached up and touched her chin lightly, tilting it back towards him before letting his hand dropped to stroke her arm.“You can still change this, Clarke.”

She glanced up at him. “What- what do mean?”

“You’re being sent back.”

“Sent back? Where—”

“Will you just listen, Clarke?” Bellamy interrupted, amused smile quirking at his lips.

She fell silent.

“I can’t tell you details. But when you wake up again, you’ll have the ability to fix this.”

“Why should I?” Clarke countered defiantly. “If this is what humanity’s come to?”

“We’ve let it come to this.” Bellamy stated emphatically. And she could tell, he truly believed that. How? She didn’t know. If anyone deserved to lose faith in people it was Bellamy Blake. The world had taken his childhood, his mother, his sister. It had beat him down too many times to count, and yet he still chose to get up and keep fighting.

She searched his face, questions littering her gaze, and Bellamy met her eyes, waiting for her to speak.

“How do you still have hope? After everything we’ve been through? All the things that we’ve done…” she whispered hoarsely.

His eyes softened and his grip on her hips tightened infinitesimally. He brought up the hand resting on her arm to tuck a piece of hair behind her ears. It was so familiar, so gentle, that Clarke wanted to cry.

“Because…” Bellamy started. “I look at you, and I see a person who has never wanted to kill.” His voice cracked as he went on. “I see a person who has never wanted to fight. And if you can still be that person, after everything, then I believe that people can be better, too.”

Clarke felt tears well up behind her eyes and she reached forward to hide them. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him close, wondering if this was just a hallucination or a dream. He cupped the back of her head gently and whispered, “We’ll see each other again, Clarke.”

“I know.”

His body grew less tangible under her touch- he was fading away. But Clarke didn’t want to say goodbye, so she kept her eyes closed and surrendered herself to the feeling of falling as he disappeared completely.

But she kept falling, her stomach swooping and heart pounding. Clarke couldn’t open her eyes- couldn’t move at all, until she landed back-down a hard metal surface with a thud.


End file.
